


Some Men Just Want to Watch the Waffles Burn

by freckledandspectacled



Series: Nygmobblepot Week 2017 [3]
Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Adopted Children, F/F, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Kissing, M/M, Nygmobblepot Week 2017, Only Tagging F/F For A Squint And Miss Sentence, Past Character Death, The Only Reason This Isn't Gen Is Because There Is Cursing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-21
Updated: 2017-09-21
Packaged: 2019-01-01 04:01:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12148194
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/freckledandspectacled/pseuds/freckledandspectacled
Summary: Oswald and Edward have a habit of raising orphans and pretending it's for more nefarious purposes. In truth, they just like being Dads.





	Some Men Just Want to Watch the Waffles Burn

**Author's Note:**

> Edward and Oswald currently have two wards, but they've cycled through two in the past and certainly will in the future in this canon. This all stems from a headcanon of mine that they like taking kids off the street and treating them well because eventually those kids will be adults who can help them out (at least, that's what they tell themselves). Read on for Dadward Nygma and Osdad Cobblepot.

Edward works tirelessly to create structure in his household that his own had been sorely lacking. Left to fend for himself most mornings when his mother was passed out drunk on the sofa, he wants nothing more than to ensure his own wards are provided a healthy breakfast every morning. He’s always been a morning person, much to Oswald’s chagrin, but his husband never complains when it means rolling out of bed to a home cooked meal. Checking the eggs and deciding they’re cooked well enough, he pours batter into the waffle maker and heads upstairs to wake the children.

Bian is always his first stop, being farthest from the master bedroom. Of his two wards, she’s certainly the more trustworthy. Though known to do her own share of sneaking out of the window, her foster brother’s habits far exceed hers, earning him the room next to Oswald and Edward. Being a light sleeper, any late night escapades were sure to be noticed by Edward. He enters her room quietly and gently shakes her awake.

“Time to get up,” Edward says, and with that he takes his leave. Bian stirs behind him, and he shuts the door.

Sosimo is more difficult to rouse. Edward enters his room and throws open the curtains. Sosimo tugs his blankets over his head and rolls over.

“Oh, no you don’t,” Edward says, grabbing a corner of the duvet and tugging it from Sosimo, uncovering him. He groans and puts his face into his arm.

“Get downstairs before your father does,” Edward warns, leaving his room. The threat of Oswald’s discipline was more effective than any he could make himself. He enters their bedroom, climbing over the mound Oswald is currently making on their mattress and straddling him.

“Wakey wakey, sleepyhead,” Edward coos, pressing kisses to Oswald’s head through the covers. Oswald groans and peaks his head out, blinking sleepily up at him through the covers.

“Good morning, gorgeous,” Oswald yawns. Edward smiles and kisses him, giggling when Oswald surprises him by rolling Edward underneath him. Oswald kisses him deeper, his hands moving down to tug at Edward’s pajama bottoms.

“Oswald,” Edward gasps, knocking his hands away. “Cut it out.”

“Why?” Oswald asks, trying to move the duvet from between then.

“I’m making waffles,” Edward whines, Oswald kissing a path down his throat.

“Let them burn,” Oswald demands, nipping gently at Edward’s collarbones.

“That’s unsafe,” Edward argues, shivering in delight under Oswald’s mouth. “It could start a fire. What kind of example would I be setting by being negligent in the kitchen?” Oswald groans and lets him up.

“You win,” he says, gently pecking Edward’s lips. “How exactly did you convince me to take on _another_ set of wayward orphans?”

“By illustrating their potential usefulness in the future, as well as their current usefulness regarding your public image,” Edward recites. “And it didn’t hurt that you liked their attitudes.”

“Rhetorical question, my love,” Oswald says. “We’d better not let those waffles burn.” Oswald kisses Edward’s forehead and departs from their bed, slipping on his robe. Edward hands him his cane and they make their way downstairs, fingers entwined. Bian is already seated at the table folding her napkin into a swan.

“Clever,” Edward comments, taking her plate from in front of her and flipping the first waffle onto it. It’s a perfect golden brown. After pouring more batter into the waffle-maker, he grabs the paper from the counter and settles down to do the crossword. Oswald drops a kiss on her head as he makes his way to the counter.

“Good morning.”

“Good morning, father.” Oswald fixes Edward’s coffee and his own, exchanging a brief kiss with his husband as he sets it in front of him. He leaves his cane leaning against the counter.

“You might need to collect your son,” Edward remarks, penning in the crossword.

“Why is he _my_ son when he’s misbehaving?” Oswald gripes.

“Because I’m the fun dad,” Edward smirks over the lip of his mug, “and you’re the authoritative one.”

“Did you read that in a parenting book?” Oswald snarks, abandoning his coffee to collect his wayward son.

“Actually, it’s ideal that both parents take an authoritative role when raising their children. If I were to assess it, I believe you would both fall under that particular category, Dad,” Bian chimes in.

“But I tell more jokes, and that makes me the fun one,” Edward says. “Did you learn that in your psychology class?” Bian nods, eating more of her waffle.

“You’re not overwhelmed, taking two APs this year?” Edward asks, putting down the paper.

“I find them both very enjoyable, particularly because the upperclassmen are more kind to me. They behaved in a slightly condescending manner at first, but it didn’t last.”

“That’s good,” Edward says, watching the hallway for a sign of his boys. “I’m going to go check on them.”

“They need to have a talk,” Bian says. “Plus, your waffle is almost ready.” The waffle maker dings.

“You’re right,” Edward sighs, smiling affectionately at her. He collects his waffle and lets Oswald have his heart to heart.

***

Oswald knocked first, because Edward had lectured him at length about allowing their children to feel like they had privacy in their home.

“Come in.” Oswald opens the door to find his son staring at his knees, fully dressed but making no move to leave his room. Oswald sits on the bed. He would recognize that thousand-yard stare anywhere.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Oswald asks, watching out of Sosimo’s window. No doubt Edward had opened the curtains for him this morning. Otherwise Sosimo would have sat in a darkened room, perfectly matched to his mood.

“I hate school,” Sosimo says. “All my teachers treat me like I’m dangerous. Nobody talks to me. I sit alone at lunch and I’m picked last for gym and I didn’t get a spot on the football team because the coach says I’m too aggressive. Too aggressive! For football!”

“You could try rugby,” Oswald suggests. Sosimo scowls at him. “Or maybe slam poetry. Why does it matter whether people like you, anyways?”

“Because I used to have people in my corner, Papi. Now there’s no one who backs me up,” Sosimo says, tracing his finger across the hem of his quilt. Edward had made it for him before he moved in. It became something of a tradition after the first child they’d had a hand in raising entered their nest.

“You miss your gang,” Oswald clarified. Sosimo nods.

“When I rolled with them, I had respect. I had brothers who would fight with me. Now everyone watches me like I’m a bomb.”

“You had no future with them,” Oswald says. “You know how I feel about kids in my operations.”

“Let me go back with them,” Sosimo begs, “I did good work.”

“I’m not your boss anymore, I’m your father,” Oswald says. “What’s best for you is staying out of this life. Believe me.”

“And how well did that go for Jon?” Sosimo mutters under his breath. Oswald inhales sharply through his nose, reeling in his temper. He’s never raised a hand to his wards, but some days Sosimo feels like a test of his will.

“Jon did very well for himself before he made poor choices,” Oswald says. “Now he’s found a different calling than Edward and I might have liked for him, but he is still an exceptional man in my eyes. Try again.”

“I’m better than those people, I’m smarter than them!” Sosimo bursts out.

“Your report cards would say otherwise,” Oswald points out.

“That’s because they teach us stupid shit,” Sosimo says. If Edward were here, he’d have a thing or two to say about his language, but he’s not. And Oswald doesn’t care.

“Then prove them wrong. If it’s so stupid, it shouldn’t be a problem for you. Since you consider yourself to be so much smarter than your peers,” Oswald says. Dangling the carrot. Sosimo considers this for a moment.

“I’ll fucking show them,” Sosimo decides.

***

When they get a call from the high school, Oswald and Edward expect that they’ll need to collect their son, yet again. To their surprise, it’s their daughter that’s today’s offender.

“Bian?” Edward says, waving at Oswald to come closer from where he’s packing Edward’s briefcase. Oswald approaches, and he turns the phone out so that they can both hear. “Is she alright?”

“She was in a minor altercation with another student, but she’s just fine. I’d appreciate it if you could come down and discuss the details, but I understand you’re both busy men.”

“We’ll be right down,” Edward says, hanging up the phone.

“Do you think she means that Bian was in a fight?” Oswald asks him, passing Edward his briefcase and taking hold of his cane. He offers Edward his other arm. Edward slips his hand through to rest on Oswald’s forearm, the pair making their way out of the office.

“I hardly think they’d call us for a verbal altercation,” Edward says. The ride there is tense, and Edward taps his fingers incessantly on the steering wheel. When they finally enter the office, both of their stress levels have skyrocketed, memories of past harms done onto them by their peers making them fear the worst despite the assurance that Bian is unharmed.

“Mr. Cobblepot,” the secretary says, perking up slightly. “You can head right into Marge’s office.”

“Thank you,” Edward replies, Oswald already at the door and throwing it open without a moment’s hesitation.

“Are you alright?” he says, crouching stiffly in front of his daughter and pushing a lock of hair behind her ear.

“I’m fine, father,” Bian says. Oswald is unconvinced, her eyes still markedly red, no doubt from tears shed.

“What happened?” Edward asks as he enters the room, putting a hand on his daughter’s shoulder and addressing Marge. They’ve already made her acquaintance on more than one occasion, though it was usually Sosimo sitting across from her. He doesn’t sit down. Oswald stands with some effort and takes up a mirroring posture on her other side.

“Bian had a physical altercation with one of her classmates during passing time. Our policy is that she be given at least a one day suspension. Because she has no prior infractions, I’ve decided that a day is more than appropriate. She will spend that school day attending ISS, which is our in-school suspension program.”

“And her classmate?” Oswald asks, eyes narrowing.

“We assign the same punishment to all parties involved in the fight. The other girl that was involved will also spend tomorrow in ISS.”

“Does that sound fair to you?” Edward asks, addressing his daughter. At face value, it seemed to be a good policy. Bian was old enough to understand that there were consequences to her actions, and smart enough to know when the risk outweighed the reward. Edward thinks this could be a good learning experience, all things considered.

“No,” Bian says flatly. Of course, Edward supposes, he hasn’t yet heard his daughter’s side of the story.

“Why is that?” Oswald says, giving her his full attention. He was already fully against his precious little girl being punished in any way, and he resolves to latch onto any ammunition she gives him to use against Marge to help her circumvent this ridiculous policy. Oswald is not going to let this go on her perfect record.

“Janet accosted me in the hallway and told me that the only reason I’m so smart is because I’m ‘Asian’,” Bian explains, putting air quotes around ‘Asian’. Edward’s face begins to redden, and Oswald tightens his grip on his cane.

“I told her that if she believes something as ignorant as that, it’s not surprising at all that I’m more intelligent than her. She pushed me into a locker and slapped me. She was going to hit me again, but I bent her fingers back until she screamed. That’s when Mr. Eisenhower came over. I don’t think it’s fair that she instigated the fight and that I’m going to be punished equally for defending myself,” Bian concludes, glaring daggers at Marge. She wasn’t unconcerned with her record, and having a suspension on there could be damaging in the future.

“She makes a fair point,” Edward says, his voice darkening in pitch. “Perhaps you should reconsider, in light of the circumstances.”

“That’s just our policy, Edward,” Marge says. “I know you’re not unaware of it, given Sosimo’s frequent subjection to that rule.”

“So you’re saying that my daughter and the girl who subjected her to racially biased bullying are on the same playing field here?” Oswald says, taking a seat. “I think that would make quite the opinion piece, don’t you, dear?”

“Certainly,” Edward says, tuning into Oswald’s changing strategy. “I think it might even make for quite the civil suit. Our lawyers have been so bored. They need a project.”

“Are you threatening me?” Marge asks, outraged.

“Are you threatened?” Edward asks levelly. “There’s no need to be, if you think you’re on the right side of the law.” Oswald smirks at her, conveying the feeling behind Edward’s words. Check and mate.

“I can’t ignore school policy,” Marge stubbornly insists. “That’s my final decision.”

“Then I’m afraid you’re going to be ignoring quite a few things very soon whilst you’re tied up in a legal battle with the Mayor of Gotham. Good day to you, Ma’am,” Oswald says, standing. Bian also gets up, slinging on her backpack. The three turn towards the door, Edward’s hand on her shoulder to guide her out.

“Wait!” Marge says, standing from behind her desk. “You’re right. It’s not a black and white situation. Bian can return to her regular classes tomorrow.”

“Are you missing anything important if we leave now?” Edward asks Bian.

“I’ll miss my psych class,” Bian says.

“Do you want to go home, or go back to class?” Oswald asks her, casting his gaze back at Marge.

“I’d rather go to class,” Bian says. “We’re doing the biological perspective.” Oswald’s gaze intensifies on Marge.

“You may return to class,” Marge acquiesces.

“I’m sure you’ve missed enough of you classes due to this… _misunderstanding_ ,” Edward drawls. “Have a good rest of the day, sweetie.” He drops a kiss on her head.

“Don’t take any sh— crap,” Oswald says, receiving a slap on the bicep from Edward. As if Bian couldn’t puzzle out what he’d meant to say. He pats her shoulder and sends her on her way back to class.

“I don’t appreciate being undermined in front of my students,” Marge says. “This is my school.”

“You school receives funding from _my_ budget commission and with _my_ approval. You have this office because I _allow_ you to have it. I’m not undercutting you in front of my child for the hell of it. In fact, I’ve never disagreed with your decisions regarding my son. Do your job correctly and you won’t hear a peep out of me. Good day,” Oswald spits, taking Edward’s arm and leaving Marge sputtering behind them.

“That was sexy,” Edward whispers, once they’re out of the hearing range of Marge’s nosy secretary. “We might as well head home for the day...”

“Lead the way,” Oswald says, moving his hand to rest on Edward’s backside and ushering him to the car.

***

“Jonathan!” Edward exclaims, opening the door the rest of the way. He stands on his toes, pulling Jonathan in for a hug. At six foot five, Jonathan had surpassed his surrogate father in height by a fairly wide margin.

“Hi, Ed,” Jonathan says, arranging his gangly limbs into a reciprocal hug. “Where’s Oswald?” Edward releases him, gesturing vaguely into the house.

“Oh, I left him in the reading room. Come inside! You smell like a barn,” Edward comments.

“I’ve been living in one,” Jonathan says. Edward frowns at him, taking his coat and hanging it.

“You know you’re always welcome to stay here,” Edward says, reproach in his voice.

“I know, but as far as the Bat’s concerned, the two of you are retired. I don’t want to draw his suspicion onto you.”

“We’re not incapable of dealing with him, you know,” Edward reminds him. “We’ve both gone toe-to-toe with the man on more than one occasion.”

“And you’ve both come out of it with scars to show for your troubles,” Jonathan says.

“You’re not incorrect,” Edward allows. “Just know that it’s always an option.”

“I’m well aware,” Jonathan says, rolling his eyes. Edward realizes he’s probably pushing the issue a little too hard. Jonathan is a grown man, after all. Perhaps he just wanted all of his children back in the nest. Growing older seemed to have that effect on people.

“Guess who’s here?” Edward sings-songs, entering the room ahead of Jonathan. Oswald cranes his head to see past him.

“Jonathan,” he smiles amiably, standing to greet him. Jonathan bends comically low to hug him. “How are you? You’re too thin.” Edward had noticed as well, but Jonathan has obviously been bothered enough by his inquiries about his living situation.

“I’ve been very busy. I’m not starving,” Jonathan says. Edward would like very much to argue that point, but he decides to pick his battles.

“Still, you should stay for dinner. I’m cooking tonight.” Jonathan perks up some at the invitation, then deflates.

“I have a few experiments running, I wasn’t planning on staying long…”

“I would be happy to check on them with you. We’ll get it done and return for dinner, how about that?” Edward says. Not only is he interested in seeing how Jonathan’s unorthodox work on the psychology of fear is progressing, but he wants to get at least one decent meal into him today.

“I suppose…” Jonathan says, trailing off. “I came by because I wanted to warn you that I’ll be doing some field studies, later tonight. Will you be going out again?”

“We didn’t have any plans,” Oswald says. They are both well aware of what Jonathan’s “field studies” consist of. The warning is much appreciated.

“Excellent, did you want to leave now?” Jonathan says, speaking to Edward.

“Sure, I’ll go get dressed. Do you mind if I pick up the kids on the way back?”

“That’s fine,” Jonathan says. While Edward seems oblivious to the distaste in Jonathan’s tone, Oswald picks up on it immediately. Edward leaves to change out of the robe he’d donned following their earlier activities, and Oswald and Jonathan are left together.

“You dislike teenagers,” Oswald says, directing the statement at Jonathan.

“I don’t dislike them any more than any other age group,” Jonathan says, defensive. “I’m indifferent towards them.” Then the matter was probably concerning Edward’s affections. Oswald and Jonathan had gotten along quite well living together, as neither felt the strain of competition for Edward. He had loved Oswald the way one loves their husband, and Jonathan the way one loves their child. However, Jonathan now had two young upstarts siphoning the importance of that role from him. Not only that, but Edward had been an important source of unconditional positive regard for Jonathan, as well as a mentor to him. It couldn’t be easy having to share. Edward hadn’t felt the need to consult him when they’d legally adopted Bian and then Sosimo, feeling that it had been between himself and Oswald. His reasoning had been that Jonathan wouldn’t care, being out of the house. Evidently, he did care. Enough that Oswald had noticed. Which, where Jonathan was concerned, had to be very much indeed.

“He’s not going to forget about you,” Oswald says. Jonathan whips his head around to look at him.

“I’m not worried about that,” he snaps.

“No, you’re worried about playing second fiddle. Don’t be. Edward doesn’t arrange his heart hierarchically, much as he might like to.” Jonathan quiets at this, and nods.

“You were never jealous of me when Edward began expressing interest in my work,” Jonathan says. “Why?”

“You weren’t competing for a role I wanted. I first considered you a test run for how Ed might handle the idea of fatherhood. You understand his own father was… not exactly the kind of man you’d nominate for ‘number one dad’.” Jonathan contemplates this information.

“I’ve always respected you, Oswald,” Jonathan says, slowly. “Know that you and Edward are very important to me. I… care about you.”

“I know, Jon. You’ll always have a place with us.”

“Ready to go?” Edward says, sweeping into the room. He flips a scarf over his shoulder and smiles widely at Jonathan.

“Yeah,” Jonathan says. Edward walks over to Oswald and kisses him.

“Don’t forget to feed the birds,” he reminds Oswald, turning to leave the room.

“I’d never!” Oswald huffs, bookmarking his page. Edward winks at him over his shoulder and leads Jonathan out.

***

They finish up in Jonathan’s lab relatively quickly. He’d recently relocated to a barn and had been sleeping in the loft. Being a wanted man, he rented the barn from a drug cartel that made use of the farmhouse as a rest stop of sorts. The property had been legally arranged for use by one of their own, and Oswald had directed Jonathan to them when he lost his position at Gotham University and had made his first public debut as the Scarecrow. It’s not a long trip back to the city, and luckily the traffic isn’t too horrible heading in.

Edward pulls up in front of the high school and parks, texting Sosimo and Bian. 

“Bian looks up to you, you know,” Edward remarks.

“She shouldn’t,” Jonathan says. “I’m nowhere near close to completing my life’s work, or to getting rid of the bat.”

“You’ve accomplished everything she cares about,” Edward says. “You avenged the death of your father upon the GCPD, you proved everyone wrong who said you’d never be as good as him, and you’re among Gotham City’s most intelligent residents.”

“She can do better than me,” Jonathan says. “What do I have to show for any of it?”

“You’re a household name, and everyone in Gotham fears you. Even when you finally retire the mask, you’ll still be a legend. Of course, that’s not to say I don’t think Bian can exceed that kind of fame. A parent always wishes for their child to surpass them.” He strokes his chin thoughtfully.

Bian and Sosimo emerge from the school, talking animatedly. Sosimo barks out a laugh and high-fives her before going around the other side of the car and opening the door.

“Did you hear what Bi did?” Sosimo asks, sliding into his seat. Bian gets in next to him, buckling her seatbelt.

“Yes,” says Edward. “Seatbelt.” Sosimo rolls his eyes and buckles it.

“Hi, Jonathan,” Bian says.

“Hello, Bian, Sosimo,” Jonathan replies, almost robotically.

“Hey,” Sosimo says, fidgeting in his seat. Of everyone in their little family, he has the least in common with Jonathan. It leaves him at a loss for how to behave around him.

“So,” Jonathan says, forcing himself to be at least marginally conversational, if only because it made Edward happy to see them getting along. “Bian, I hear you have an interest in psychology.”

“Not really,” she answers honestly. “It is fun, though.”

“Fun,” Jonathan repeats, as though he never considered his work could also be something enjoyable.

“I’m really interested in law, but there’s no AP course for that. I am taking Government and Politics, though,” Bian explains. Her passion for it was not without cause. Her late father, Hoang Van Due, had been a judge in Gotham City. Being a judge in Gotham, he was of course on someone’s payroll. Oswald’s, in fact. Everything had changed the night the GCPD went to arrest Judge Hoang at his home. Bian’s mother had confronted the officers with a gun. The police had never announced themselves as such, making it likely she believed them to be burglars. The mistake cost her and her husband their lives when police opened fire on them upon seeing the gun.

Oswald had worked closely with Bian’s father. Their business acquaintance had become more of a friendship, and when Bian was born, Due named Oswald her godfather. Phuong, her mother, had wholeheartedly approved. She and Edward had struck up an equally close friendship over the course of many double dates, and the four of them had significant impact on Gotham’s social and political circles together for over a decade. Burying them was one of the hardest days of their lives, but they’d both found some solace caring for Bian, only ten years old at the time. At first, she’d been righteously angry. Then Bian had found a new goal: to one day fill her father’s seat and hold the GCPD accountable for its many injuries to Gotham. A lofty goal for a child, but it had given her a sense of purpose and helped her move on.

“Well, I wasn’t unskilled at teaching. Let me know if there’s anything you’d like explained in more detail,” Jonathan offers. Edward beams at him, and Jonathan decides it’s worth risking Bian taking him up on it.

“I’ll keep it in mind,” she replies, already making a metal list of debates she’s having with the psychological status quo. Jonathan won’t know what hit him.

“I’ve got some news, too,” Sosimo says. “Remember how the football coach was being an asshole— sorry, Dad. Being really unreasonable? Well, the rugby coach says I can be second string varsity and he’ll see how it goes from there! Varsity!”

“That’s great,” Edward says, vividly imagining a hulking man pummeling his son into the ground. “You wear helmets, right?”

“Uh, no. Not really. Some guys get skull caps, or like, headbands.”

“We’ll talk about this with your father,” Edward says, filled with trepidation. He’d been secretly relieved Sosimo was rejected from the football team, despite being indignant at the coach’s bias towards his son for his past indiscretions. Before coming under their care, Sosimo had been a member of the lowest tier of Oswald’s gang. Having a thirteen-year-old running drugs and money was not the kind of reputation Oswald was cultivating, and he had quickly put a stop to it after Sosimo was arrested and his involvement brought to Oswald’s attention. It hadn’t been hard to win a not guilty plea, but after his hearing Sosimo had nowhere to go. Orphaned at a young age and raised on the streets, he’d never known anything but crime. Edward had seen potential in him, and resolved to change that. It hadn’t taken much to convince Oswald they should take him in, Oswald seeing much of himself in the innovative young man. That had been three years ago, now.

“Helmets are for pussies, anyways” Sosimo says.

“Batman wears a helmet,” Bian says. The car quiets. “Just saying.”

“Wow, Bi, I was kinda proud of you for a minute there until you went and decided to be a dork again,” Sosimo says, scowling.

“The number of dorks in this car currently outstrip you,” Jonathan remarks coolly.

“And there’s nothing wrong with being a dork, either,” Edward says, shooting a look at Jonathan.

“Did you break any of her fingers?” Sosimo asks, turning his attention back to Bian.

“I don’t know,” she says. “I’m not sure how I’d feel about that.”

“It would be awesome,” Sosimo assures her. “I can’t believe she just called you ‘Asian’, everyone knows you’re Vietnamese. I mean, your dad was basically famous.”

“You’d be surprised,” Edward chimes in, “Due got it all the time. Even the newspapers would call him the ‘First Asian’ this and the ‘First Asian’ that. He used to joke that it was because the literacy rate among reporters had declined so much, they no longer knew how to spell ‘Vietnamese’.” Bian smiles at this.

“That’s like when kids call me Mexican,” Sosimo says. “I mean, I _might_ be Mexican, but there’s no way they know and Idon’t.”

“When does that happen?” Edward snaps, eyes flicking up to Sosimo in the rearview.

“It’s not a big deal,” Sosimo shugs. “They stopped after freshman year when I had that growth spurt. If they call me that now, they make sure I can’t hear it.” Edward forces his temper to simmer down. He’s more miffed that Sosimo hadn’t chosen to share this information with him than anything. Had Oswald known? They’re going to need to have a conversation about the casual prejudice that is occurring at Gotham High, an undercurrent Edward hadn’t perceived even a hint of until today.

“You tell either myself or your father if something like that happens again,” Edward orders. He watches Sosimo nod in the rearview.

“It’s really not a big deal, though,” he mutters.

“It _is_ a big deal!” Edward shouts, slamming his hand down on the steering wheel. No child of his should ever be bullied, he needed to know about these things, he needed to stop them. He needed their formative years to be better than his had been. Noticing the tension his raised voice has created, he takes a deep breath. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have shouted. But you need to understand that it’s important to tell us about things like this, alright?”

“Alright,” he says. “I promise.” Edward knows that promise from his son is ironclad, and he relaxes. 

“I hope I broke something,” Bian decides, and the car dissolves into laughter.

***

Edward hangs his scarf and jacket by the door, the kids quickly following suit. Jonathan makes a beeline for the kitchen.

“Coat and hat!” Edward calls, the lanky man slumping back to relinquish them into Edward’s possession. They file into the dining room, Edward directing Sosimo and Bian to set the table while Jonathan follows him into the kitchen.

“You’re just in time,” Oswald says, tilting his head up for Edward’s kiss. “Ivy’s coming for dinner.” Jonathan scowls.

“Be civil,” Edward warns. If Jonathan was like a son to him, Ivy was like a daughter to Oswald. Ivy had no issues about being friendly with Jonathan, but that was precisely his issue with her. He loathed how she called him “Jonnie”, the easy way she invaded his personal space, the high pitch and loud decibel of her voice, and more than anything, the never-ending onslaught of _cheer_. Jonathan found it dreadful. Though neither Edward nor Oswald were as close to each other’s protégés, there was still a fondness for them due to their importance to the other. A sense of paternal instinct by proxy.

“I’m not a child,” Jonathan says, scowling like a child. Edward can’t help but smile, taking hold of a few trivets for the food and heading to the dining room. Bian and Sosimo are nearly finished with the settings, and Edward strategically lays out the trivets. Jonathan places a pan down and heads back for more when the doorbell rings.

“I’ve got it,” Edward calls, making his way to the front door. He can tell it’s Ivy by the incessant mashing of the doorbell that continues. He opens the door and smiles. “Hello, Ivy. I’m glad you could join us.”

“Hi Eddie,” Ivy says, sweeping into the foyer and taking off her gloves. Edward helps her out of her jacket and hangs it. “What’s Pengy making?” Edward might never stop cringing at that name.

“I honestly don’t know,” he says, walking alongside her to the dining room. “It will be a surprise for us both.” Bian, Sosimo and Jonathan are already seated, and Oswald finally emerges from the kitchen.

“Pengy!” Ivy cries, sweeping him into a hug.

“Hello, Ivy,” Oswald says, a fond smile on his face. Edward takes his seat at the head of the table, Oswald sitting across from him at the other. Laid out on the table is Spätzle, goulash, eggplant salad, and chicken paprikash. Oswald had really outdone himself for their two guests. Dinner is mostly uneventful, and they all make idle conversation as they catch up with one another. Ivy hardly touches her food, so engrossed in telling Oswald about her adventures in Central America until he reminds her to eat. Edward feels a strange sense of content, deep in his chest. A kind of contentment that soothes the bone deep grind of his traumas and leaves him feeling a kind of peace he’s never known, a quiet that soothes the incessant drive in his head to strive for more, for better. For a moment, everything in front of him is enough. Oswald smiles at him across the table, and Edward blows him a kiss.

Clean up is a breeze with four eager helpers, and they retire into the living room. Oswald claims the end of the couch, and Edward naturally sits next to him, propping himself up against Oswald as they longue in front of the fire. Jonathan claims the other end of the couch, Ivy the armchair, and Sosimo drags in another two chairs from the dining room while Bian picks out a board game. They play three rounds of Clue, Bian wisely seizing the opportunity to play with six players instead of four. Edward wins the first and second round but dozes off against Oswald several times during the third, allowing Jonathan to seize victory. Oswald brings out the aranygaluska and a pot of tea, and the six of them end up having a rousing debate over whether watermelon is a fruit or vegetable. Ivy decides the argument by asserting her expertise in the field and declaring it a fruit.

Jonathan and Ivy leave shortly afterwards: Jonathan to terrorize Gotham on a full stomach, and Ivy for a late movie with her girlfriend Harley. Edward and Oswald pry Bian and Sosimo from the aranygaluska and send them to bed. Following his nightly routine of basic hygiene, Edward settles into bed with a book, Oswald joining him shortly afterwards.

“Did you know that Sosimo’s peers were harassing him, specifically because he’s Latino?” Edward asks, not looking up from his book.

“No,” Oswald says, putting his own down. “When was this?”

“His freshman year; I thought he might have confided in you,” Edward says, marking his page and setting it aside.

“Never,” Oswald says. “What were they saying?”

“Teasing him for being Mexican, apparently. I’m going to have a talk with Marge and our commission on education.”

“I’ll join you,” Oswald insists, lying down. “First thing tomorrow. I’ll cancel my appointment with the Romanians.”

“I’ll handle it,” Edward promises, turning out the light and lying beside him. “Sosimo made the rugby team.”

“That’s great!” Oswald says. Edward remains quiet. “You’re worried.”

“It seems like a dangerous past-time. Why couldn’t he be interested in chess club, or even something like soccer, or baseball?” Edward laments.

“It’s just high school,” Oswald says, wheedling. “He’s likely the biggest kid in the league, darling. Besides, it might help him make a few friends.”

“I suppose,” Edward says, still unconvinced.

“I’m sure you’ll look up the statistics on rugby-related injuries in the morning, but for now, let’s get some shut-eye,” Oswald suggests, kissing Edward and lying back. Edward moves closer, under Oswald’s arm and against his chest until his face is resting in the crook of Oswald’s neck.

“I love you,” Edward says, shutting his eyes.

“I love you, too,” Oswald says, stroking a hand through his hair. Perhaps this isn’t the life Edward always thought he should be leading, but it’s a good life. He loves his family, he loves his husband, and despite how eventful and chaotic their lives can be, it’s nights like tonight that make everything worth it. Edward wouldn’t trade it for the world. It’s not perfect, but it doesn’t need to be. Edward takes a breath and relaxes against Oswald, letting sleep overtake him. Fate brought him here, and if there is one thing Edward believes in, it’s fate. Whatever the problem might be, Edward rests easy knowing that they can solve it, just as they solved every problem that led them here. 

**Author's Note:**

> So that was basically a day in the life of the Cobblepot household in this verse, I hope I developed my OCs enough to make them seem like real, likable characters. Let me know how I did!


End file.
